


Pouring Tea Blindfolded

by Tartanshell



Category: Daredevil (2003), Daredevil (Comics), Iron Fist (Comic)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:38:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tartanshell/pseuds/Tartanshell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt Murdock just wants to escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pouring Tea Blindfolded

If there were any justice in the world, it would be possible to take a shower long enough and hot enough to wash the last year or so away. To wash the blood (literally) on his hands away, because God knows he's tried to get away from it all like that, too. Tried to escape with gloved knuckles cracking against jawbones, his elbow in someone's gut, grinning at a gun shoved in his face and praying—-actually praying—-for someone to be faster than him, for once.

Of course, true justice is in short supply, but Matt knew that long before he took the LSATs. Never was some starry-eyed kid with dreams of changing the world by taking pro bono cases. (Takes them, yes, but doesn't believe it will make a difference in the long run.) There's rarely any justice in the world unless you take matters into your own hands.

And doing _that_ is what leads to nights in the shower, spitting blood, hot water stinging cuts and scrapes, pressure hard enough to bruise that still doesn't unknot his muscles and only makes the bruises he already has ache. Stepping out, feet slapping on tile, inhaling steam, feeling wet and squeaky from soap but still not _clean_.

Maybe all of that is just. What he deserves. You'd think Lady J. herself would cut him a break, some kind of blind solidarity, but she's probably pissed at him for not leaving everything in the courtroom in the first place. For that matter, God's probably not pleased with him, either. Vengeance isn't Matt Murdock's, after all. Vengeance isn't for him to deal out in a devil costume.

All of this just such a fucking mess. There is not enough hot water in the world. Plenty of cold, though, sluicing down in buckets tonight. Drops slithering down his neck like ice, thrown into his face in the wind, like drumbeats on the leather taut over his skull.

Halloween was last week, and here he is, crouched like some overgrown trick-or-treater on the edge of a roof. Sometimes, Matt thinks Foggy's got a point when he says you've gotta be crazy or stupid-—or both-—to do this thing. Stupid is one thing Matt knows he isn't, but it's the other one that. Well. There's normal-for-him, and then there's taking his mask off in public above a roaring sea of reporters. Shutting out his closest friends. Declaring himself Kingpin.

That sort of thing. Daring them to pull the trigger.

Matt smells him, hears footsteps that should be nearly silent on the roof behind him, but doesn't turn. Feels the corner of his lips twitch, though, somewhere between exasperation and amusement. "Another intervention?" he asks, still facing the street. "Or is it time for a pep talk? I lose track."

Danny's palms whisper against fabric as he smoothes his tights over his thighs, then crouches down beside Matt. "I just saw you. Thought I'd come say hey."

Matt nods, though he isn't sure he buys it. "Okay. Hey."

"Hey."

"Luke's not out tonight?"

And he doesn't need heightened senses to feel Danny's shoulders tense. "Luke's with Jessica."

"Right," Matt says quietly, and resists the urge to add an apology after it. He doesn't know Danny that well, for one thing. And he doesn't know this officially. It's just one of those things you _know_ , if you know people. Like knowing about the Night Nurse. Like knowing which bars will give you a free beer if you come in in costume. Like how the X-Men are all sleeping together--who's with whom varies by week--and the Thing has a thing for the Invisible Woman…or her brother, depending on who you talk to. It's like that, knowing that Luke Cage and Danny Rand are more than just business partners. Or _were_ , apparently.

Danny exhales, and Matt wonders if he is staring out at the lights or staring down at his hands. Probably the hands. It's that kind of sigh. "So," Danny says, "you want to grab a beer or something?"

"You're done for the night?"

"Nothing's going to go down, out in this. Besides, it's getting late."

"Is it?"

"You don't wear a watch?" Danny asks, sounding surprised.

Matt shrugs and lifts one hand. "A Braille one would kind of be a giveaway, don't you think?"

"Right. I keep forgetting that it's not--" He trails off. "Anyway. Do you?"

"Want a beer?" Matt shrugs again. It's not like he has a wife to go home to. Not anymore. "Sure. Why not?"

"Cool," Danny says as he stands. "Do you want to change and meet me somewhere, or...?"

The thought of changing into civvies and then voluntarily going back out to get soaked is enough to make Matt wince. "Actually, why don't we just go back to my place? It's nearby, and I've got a six-pack in the fridge."

"Great. Lead the way."

\---

"This is it," Matt says with a gesture, once they've come in the back way. He rolls some of the tension out of his neck and feels--and hears--his vertebrae crack. "Make yourself at home. And hey," he adds as this occurs to him, "if you want a shower or something, that's fine, too."

"Nah. I wouldn't mind a towel, though. I'm dripping all over the place."

"No problem." Matt grabs two from the bathroom and tosses one towards where he can hear Danny breathing. "Here. I'm going to go change," he says as he heads for the bedroom.

It takes him a minute to peel himself out of the wet leather and towel off, another one to throw on some jeans and a t-shirt. As an afterthought, he brings an extra t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants out into the living room. "Hey. Thought you might want something dry to wear," he says. "We're about the same size, right?"

"Looks like it."

To Matt's surprise, clothes rustle behind him on his way to the fridge. He hooks two bottle necks in his fingers, glass clinking, the scent of Danny's skin stronger now that he's half-naked. In the living room. Which makes sense, Matt guesses. Danny probably doesn't care about changing in front of a blind guy. Or maybe he's just not modest. Not everybody was raised Catholic.

Still, his smell is everywhere, and honestly, that makes Matt a little uncomfortable. He gives Danny a crooked smile on his way to join him on the couch. "You decent?"

"Yeah. Thanks for the clothes."

Matt settles back, trying not to hiss as the rib he cracked last week makes itself known. Hands one of the beers over and then opens his own. Takes a swig and only then realizes how thirsty he was. He closes his eyes and leans his head back. "This was a good idea."

"Yeah," Danny says again. There's a crack as he opens his beer. He swallows. And it's only when the bottom of the bottle catches on the edge of the table when Danny fumbles for it that Matt realizes and sits up straight again.

"Shit. I forgot the lights," he says, shaking his head. "I _never_ forget the lights." Then he turns, frowning--for all the good that does. "How--? And why didn't you say something?"

Danny laughs. "Relax, it's fine. There's a streetlight, so it's not _pitch_ dark in here. Almost, but not quite. And--" cotton brushes the back of the sofa as he shrugs. "In my training, I had to do a lot of stuff blindfolded. Serving tea, getting my ass kicked, stuff like that. I got used to it."

Matt nods and leans back. "Why'd you think it was an act, then?" he can't help asking, after a second. "I mean, if you--"

Danny snorts. "Tea I can handle. Judo, I can handle. But flipping off rooftops _blind_?"

"Well. It's not _quite_ like that."

"Yeah, that's what Luke says," Danny says, shifting to turn to him. The couch dips as he leans over to retrieve his beer. "How does that work, anyway? You can hear my heartbeat? Smell me? What?"

Matt sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "My downstairs neighbor's heartbeat, if I concentrate. What you had for lunch on your breath. Pheromones. Can get a picture--it's hard to explain, sort of like sonar--of what you're doing from sounds, particularly that heavy bass across the street."

"Wow. That...must suck."

Matt smiles at the unexpected insight and hopes his expression isn't too bitter. "I got used to it." He gestures to Danny's hands. "What about you? Do they hurt, afterwards?"

"Not my fists, no. But using my power wipes me out. Thus, the beer."

"Beer's good."

"Yep."

The apartment is quiet for a couple of minutes. Probably silent, to Danny, except for his own swallowing.

"So. Milla left," Matt says at last, and probably unnecessarily. _He_ can still smell jasmine, but other than that and a few stray Tampax in the bathroom cupboard, he knows there's no trace of her left here.

"I heard."

"And Foggy's pissed at me," Matt adds, figuring that as long as he's confessing...

"Yeah. I heard that, too."

And Matt can't help smiling, barely lifting his head off the back cushion to take a drink. "God. _Is_ there any gossip lately--with us, I mean--that isn't about me? Not to sound conceited, but--"

"I know what you mean, man. And no. Not lately." Danny shrugs. "Everyone's been worried about you."

"I screwed up. I know." Matt scrubs a hand over his face. He's getting a headache between his eyes, and the sitcom reruns downstairs are _not_ helping. "Everything is such a mess right now."

"Tell me about it." Muttered low, and there's something raw in Danny's voice that makes Matt look up. Danny takes a deep breath and taps his thumb against the side of his bottle. "You know, right?" he says after a second. "About me and Luke?"

Matt nods. "Yeah," he says quietly. "I mean, I figured. You okay?"

"Well." Danny snorts. "He could've handled it better. You know Luke. One minute, things were normal. And then next, it's, 'Yo, man. I don't think I'm into this anymore.'"

"That's Luke."

"Yeah."

Quiet again, and Matt wasn't lying, before. He can hear Danny's heartbeat easily--this close, might as well be pounding in his own chest--can hear it speeding up. Can smell his damp hair, his sweat, can smell and feel and almost taste the warmth of his skin.

Matt swallows and would swear he can feel the considering, curious look Danny's giving him. Realizes he has no idea what color Danny's eyes are, or what he looks like, and wonders for a second if he should care. He opens his mouth to speak, but Danny beats him to it.

"I just wanted a beer," he says. "Honestly. This wasn't supposed to be--I mean, it wasn't about--"

Without hesitating, Matt reaches over and sets his hand on Danny's thigh, warm through the cotton of his sweatpants. Looks up, and is glad that at close range, it's easy to meet someone's eyes. For some reason, that _does_ matter, right now. "Hey," he says quietly, voice rougher than usual, more like Daredevil's, "you want another? It's still raining out, and--"

Danny's hand comes to rest on top of Matt's. It's slimmer than he expected. Callused skin. Big knuckles. "I'll get 'em."

His bare feet pad toward the kitchen, and Matt smiles a little. Maybe the sound of escape, tonight, is as simple as two beers clinking in the dark.


End file.
